


When I'm Awake, or Awake Enough

by dogeared



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Community: picfor1000, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/pseuds/dogeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve dreams, and he wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I'm Awake, or Awake Enough

Steve's alone in a city—it's dark and neon-bright, but he can't tell more than that—it could be any one of dozens he's been in over the past ten years, or maybe it's someplace he's never been at all. He's walking. Cars slow down as they drive past him, and he can see himself reflected in their windows, except that it's not his face—he looks and sees Mary, Kono, Danny, Chin. He tries to walk faster, to run, but the cars pace him, and it's Victor Hesse, running alongside him, it's Anton, his dad, his mom. He's sprinting now, and it's his own face looking back at him, only impossibly young, 15 or 16 and blurred, because Steve's running as hard as he can, his whole body being jarred by the concrete sidewalk—

There's a sound, like the peal of a bell, ringing in his ears and resonating in his chest, and he wakes up. His phone's vibrating against his ribs where he's half lying on it. It's Danny, and Steve takes a breath, and another, and answers.

* * *

He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror for longer than he usually would—sees gray hairs, stubble dark against his jaw, smudges like bruises under his eyes; sees a guy who's trying to figure out what comes next. The feeling of the dream lingers, and it makes everything mundane and ordinary seem otherworldly—the sound of the water in the sink echoes while he brushes his teeth, and it's overcast, so the kitchen is dim and humid, and he misses the warm angles of sunlight streaming in through the window, filling up the corners. His hands look strange on the truck's steering wheel—he blinks away the brief, unsettling sensation that they belong to someone else and grips it too tight, like the whole world might slip away if he lets go.

Danny notices right away—they switch cars, and as soon as he slides in the passenger seat, he taps Steve's knuckles gently with his index finger, and he doesn't even have to say _ease up_ for Steve to hear it loud and clear. He flexes his fingers, presses his shoulder blades back against the seat, and feels something inside him loosen and settle.

And then Danny's off and running—Steve's not even sure what it's about, he thinks maybe a gecko—but Danny's going on and on about fold-out beds, about lizards that grow back the tips of their tails, about how the wildlife on this island doesn't respect the clearly-marked boundaries of civilization like walls and roofs, but he lets it wash over him until it builds to a crescendo of near-shouting, comes back to himself enough to say, "Jeez, Danny, okay!"

Danny stops himself mid-rant, yells, "What, what?" and Steve says, absurdly grateful, "You're just so _you_."

"Accept no imitations," Danny says, pointing a finger at Steve's chest, and Steve laughs and thinks fuck, no, never.

* * *

"Bad night, boss?" Chin asks when they walk into HQ, and Steve figures he's probably had enough of them to recognize what the aftermath of one looks like. He nods at Chin and Chin nods back, and he thinks they both get it, and that's enough.

The rest of the day is quiet, and Steve can't decide whether that's a good thing or not, but he keeps his head down, fills out requisition forms and types up reports, clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth to keep from yawning.

* * *

The day ends with Danny and beers and the best sunset he's seen in weeks, pink and gold lighting up the whole sky. Steve grabs a towel, mops the chairs where they're still wet from the day's rain, settles in. The last of the sun's glittering off the water in the bay, and he closes his eyes against it. He hears Danny's chair creak as he shifts in it, and the shushing of little waves against the shoreline is almost enough to lull him under.

"After Rachel and I split, I dreamed that I'd never see Gracie again, that I'd lost her forever. I dreamed it all the time. It was terrible, and I'd have to call as soon as I woke up, no matter what time it was, just to know she was still okay. Sometimes I still dream that," Danny says, like it's out of the blue. Steve slits open his eyes, turns his head to look at Danny sideways, because how does he know?

But Danny's apparently said what he needed to, because he's watching the water and the sky, squinting a little, tipping his bottle up to drink, and a chair creaks again, only this time it's because Steve's standing up, and he's leaning over Danny, bracing himself on the arms of the chair and bending down and kissing him.

It's nothing at all like a dream—the slick slide of Danny's mouth, cool and bitter from the beer and then hot and open, Danny making soft noises, because of course he can't keep his peace, even now, when his jaw's scraping rough against Steve's, when his tongue's flickering at the corner of Steve's mouth, pulling a groan out of him. Steve's heart is pounding in his ears, and he feels the pull of the muscles in his arms, the ache starting in the small of his back from the way he's bent over. Danny's hands settle at his waist, sure and grounding, just enough pressure that for the first time all day, Steve doesn't feel like his skin fits wrong, and he knows, certain as anything, that whatever's next, Danny'll be there with him.

And he must be right, this must all be right, because Danny says, "Ding ding ding," right against his mouth, and it rings in his ears and vibrates against his lips, it resonates in the hollow of his throat, behind his breastbone, in all the other scooped-out places in him that have been waiting, all this time, to be filled up.


End file.
